LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MUSINGS BY PEQUIT BROOKSIDE. 



MUSINGS 



BY 



PEQUIT BROOKSIDE 



BY 



AUGUSTUS GILL 



X? 




\^ 



PRIVATELY PRINTED BY 

CUPPLES AND HURD 

Boston, 1888 






COI'YRIC.HT, l888. 

A /I rights reserved. 



PREFACE. 

Having from youth to age scribbled rhyme occasionally^ 
I have selected from a mass of manuscript the following 
pieces, which I thought jnight not prove rvholly devoid of 
interest to my friends and acquaint atices. 

I am fully aware that much of the verse now published 
— 7iot excepting the present volume — i-igid criticisjn 
would hardly admit to be poetry. I do not, however, 
share the sentiments of those ivho entertain the opinion 
that if poetry is not of the highest order it is therefore 
useless and almost execrable, but believe that even the lower 
grades may subserve a valuable purpose. If they do not 
" refine the heart afid elevate the soul,^^ they may furnish 
precepts which tend to guide the young afid inexperienced 
into the paths of rectitude and virtue. 



/o Preface. 

It is hardly possible for one who has read extensively 
and for a long period to distinguish the emanations of his 
own mind from those derived fro?n other sources ; and 
should any discover here a siffiilarity in thought or ex- 
pression to other authors, I tvould say I have designedly 
appropriated nothing from preceding writers. If I have 
made a citation and failed to indicate it as a quotation, it 
was through inadvertence. No one conversant with lit- 
erature, however, can have failed to notice quite a number 
of illust7'ious imitators and borrozvers. 

A large part of my life has been passed in pursuits very 
unfavorable to literature, and I have ever found the cares 
of life and manual labor very unpropitious to the flights 
of fancy or fervor of imagination. 

A. G. 



Before making the selectiofi atid preparifig his work for 
the press ^ the author was suddenly called to a '■'■higher 
lifer 

Therefore^ neither the preface ?ior the jnanuscript verse 
received his last careful touches. 

Wishing to carry out his inte fit ions, these selections are 
presented with many misgivings as to the wisdom of the 
choice, which might not have been that of the writer. 

H. P. G. 

Canton, Mass., 1888. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



Address to an Old Violi?i ... . . ly 

No Man ever became Great by Imitation . . 2^ 

Night ........ j2 

The Forms in Early Years we've Known . j^ 

Lines — {Seen at a distance) .... jj- 

Ye cannot serve God and Matnmon . . . j6 

A Contrast ....... j6 

A Pocket Book . ..... J7 

Thoughts on the Nile . .... 4.1 

Advice to the Young ...... 44 

On Pride ........ 4^ 

Thoughts in a Churchyard — A Dim Shadow of 

Gray ........ ^7 

An Invitation ....... ^^ 

Genius often Unk?iowti .... 57 



Contents 



■t^ K^uni'C-fn-:). 


PAGE 


A Little Book 


58 


The Poefs Recompetise .... 


61 


Evening Reflections 


64 


An Old Mart's Musifigs .... 


66 


Aspire . ...... 


68 


Address to the Deity 


69 


Lines on seeing it discussed ivhere to erect a Monu 




merit to Webster .... 


71 


A Sunset View 


72 


On the Works of the Deity 


74 


The Abode of Man 


75 


What the Bachelor is like .... 


77 


Christmas Hyrnn ..... 


79 


On the Death of a Miser .... 


82 


What is Love like 1 . 


84 


On the Presidential Election of 1872 . 


86 


Hymn 


87 


A Poet 


89 


On the Freedom of the Mind 


90 


Bible Times 


92 



Contents. 

Decoration Day, 187 j 

In the Convocation at Philadelphia, i8y6 

A Part of the Ninetieth Psalm . 

The Aurora Borealis 

God is Love ..... 

Lines dissuading a Friend frotn engaging 

Lawsuit ..... 
Lines — ( Who guides Arcturus ?) 
Letter of Augustus Ca;sar to Livia Drusilla 
Livia^s Reply ..... 
Be Fruitful and Multiply . 

Blue Hill 

Cuba ...... 

Mud — Written at the time Gen. McClellan was 

Commander-ifi-Chief of the Union Forces 

Neglect 

Can Man be sure he is Right ? 
Autum?i ...... 

Red, White, and Blue 

The Boundless Power of the Deity 



15 

PAGE 

94 

97- 

99 

lOI 

102 

104 
106 
107 
112 
113 
115 
119 

122 

125 
126 
128 
131 

133 



i6 



Contents. 



j-yj KjUiiic-nts. 




PAGE 


Do Little Things 


135 


Twilight 




137 


Midfiight 




139 


Adverse Fate .... 




140 


And shall it e'er be said? . 




140 


The Human Face 




141 


Saul ...... 




. 142 


Zion ! put on thy Strength . 




143 


Heaven and Earth unite and sing 




145 


Hymn — {Lord! in Thy presence) 




M7 


Hynm — {0 Holy one, by Lsrael slaiti) 


149 


Hymji — {Lord, ivhose glor^ s not confitied) 


151 


A Medley 




• 153 



ADDRESS TO AN OLD VIOLIN- 

Ancient Shell ! with wondrous powers endow'd ! 

Thy tones were silv'ry, soft, and sweet, and loud. 

Marvellous vehicle of dulcet sound ! 

Where can thy peer on all the earth be found? 

Exhaustless reservoir from which outflow 

Salubrious tones that heal our grief and woe ! 

To music thou'rt as to the engine steam. 

Light to the eye from heaven's vivific beam. 

Thou mak'st the blood to leap, to swiftly stir. 

Thou art emotion's great interpreter. 

Phidian grace lies in thy ev'ry curve 

Which from true beauty's line doth never swerve. 

Greece, in her palmy days, did not thee view, 

Therefore one form of beauty never knew. 



J 8 Musings by 

Thou wert unknown in famed Belshazzar's band, 

Though boundless wealth lay open to his hand, 

Thy witching tones, so clear, distinct, and true, 

Afforded joys which Cesar never knew. 

How Plutarch's heroes would have blest the day. 

Could they have heard on thee an artist play. 

Had David had thee, it seems very clear 

Saul could not have at him hurled the deadly spear. 

Of thee we wish to know, — from artist rare, 
Down to the horse that freely furnish'd hair 
For thy enchanting bow, — for that, we find. 
To thee's what learning is unto the mind ; 
Or unto thee, wherever thou dost roam. 
Like Crusoe's Friday in his island home ; 
Adjunct supreme '. like earth's own satelUte, 
Or flowing ink which makes the pen to write. 
The post, the " viol's soul, " in any case 
Must not be moved a hair's-breadth from its place. 



Peqitit Brookside. ig 

For it sustains quite as important part 

As, in the human race, sustains the heart. 

The sound-bar's like the nervous system fine. 

And strength and firmness gives as does the spine. 

The bridge, which well upholds the tuneful strings 

As the sweet warbler is upborne by wings, 

Should seem a wing that cannot be detach'd. 

Of kindred wood that has not been mismatch'd. 

As the proud peacock's tail is all ablaze, 

Thy purfled tail-piece ornament displays. 

In cells, through which the living sap was sent. 

Has flow'd a secret, subtle element 

Which did enchain, enchant, and magnetize. 

And none could cavil, carp, or criticise. 

Thou canst effect a cataract-like tune, 

Or gently ripple like a rill in June ; 

Seem like a storm which vet'ran oaks will break. 

Or like the breeze that dimples not the lake. 

Thou shouldst be kept with far much greater care 



20 Musings by 

Than finest gold or precious jewels are, 

For thou art sensitive in a high degree 

To change of weather on the land or sea. 

Thy owners thee their greatest treasure deem'd, 

And gold, compared with thee, was light esteem'd. 

For thy possession monarchs might contend, 

And freely for thee gems and gold expend. 

And now, defac'd, can sweeter music drop 

Than when first issued from the artist's shop. 

Thou hast receiv'd rough usage, and hard knocks, 

And, what may seem to some a paradox, 

Thou soundest, and art sound;— despite each crack 

Where once shone amber but now shines shellac. 

Thou art an instance of what skill can do 

Combin'd with patience and a little glue. 

To Time thou'st seen the organ proud succumb. 

Pianos splendid, by it render'd dumb, 

Aye, seen them come and go like flowers in spring. 

And perish from the earth, each pipe and string ; 



Pequit Brook side. 21 

Hast seen its ravage on their yellow keys, 

A sure precursor of their sad decease ; 

Hast seen pretentious horns sink down midst junk 

While thou, in byssus, lie within a trunk ; 

In that retreat, in silence calm, art hid 

Like royal mummy in a pyramid. 

Of thy charm'd life thou canst a lease renew, 

Like Salathiel live, the wand'ring Jew. 

Fragile and lasting as fine China ware. 

No length of time can tli}- pure tones impair. 

Seen generations, jocund as the day. 

To thy notes gambol, and then pass away ; 

And ev'ry year thou hast much better grown, 

And what thou lost in lustre, gain'd in tone. 

As the good Christian's outward man decays. 

The inward grows in goodness and in grace. 

From num'rous years, yea, ages thou hast drawn 

Thy brilliant tones, like light athwart the dawn ; 

Like Titian's tints, all mellow'd down by time. 



22 Musings by 

Which by a master's hand become sublime. 

Yea, thou hast seen the grand cathedral rise 

As if to view more closely distant skies ; 

As if with earth it could not be content, 

But longed for'union with the firmament; 

Hast seen it rise 'neath heaven's auspicious smile, 

And seen it fall, a huge disjointed pile. 

Seen empires sink, and mighty nations born. 

And hosts of kings their various thrones adorn. 

On pious ears thy notes with hymns soft fell, 

And sweetly mingled with the convent bell. 

Oft have great artists softly thee caress'd. 

And sometimes clowns thy precious handle press'd. 

Within thy narrow and contracted round 

Is lodged a prodigality of sound 

Which is sweet Music's source, — her noble sire ; 

Which will exist till Nature shall expire. 

From thee the player rapture can educe 

And all the fountains of the soul unloose. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 2^ 

Beneath some great maestro's magic touch 
Thy wealth of sound, thy affluence, was such 
It filled the soul with high transcendent glee. 
And said, " O mourners, come, O come to me ; " 
While list'ning to thy "notes almost divine," 
It rais'd their spirits much like gen'rous wine. 

Out on the man I dull soul I with leathern ears, 
Whom thy bright tones his spirit never cheers ; 
From his foul presence a blest saint recoils, 
He's " fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ;" 
He'd talk, or sleep, when others were aglow. 
While Paganini sway'd his matchless bow, 
Or view it as of very small account 
When Judah's Harper play'd on Zion's mount ; 
To him a "Strad " is wood and nothing more. 
And no more valued than a kitchen floor. 
He's wanting in that signal attribute 
Which parts the seraph from the grov'ling brute. 



.24 Musings by 

Through the deep sea a dolphin made a track, 

And bore Orion on his shining back ; 

Orpheus caus'd the mountains vast to bound 

When from his lyre he struck the thrilling sound. 

These fables show what " tonal splendor " '11 do, 

How it can man, and nature, all subdue. 

A dewy freshness through thee brightly glows 

Which ne'er, like sculpture, seems like arctic snows. 

Thou'st been, as all the best musicians know, 

In concerts grand, the oeneralissimo. 

Orchestral king I to whom all homage pay, 

And, bending, own thy undisputed sway ; 

There in that realm thou reign'd and reign'st su- 
preme, 

Or light and airy, or how grave the theme. 

Thou art so prized by all the human race, 

Thou, and thy allies, time will ne'er displace. 

The wood, of which thou'rt form'd, might grow 
beside 



Peqiiit Brookside. 2^ 

The classic Arno, or near Como's tide ; 

That wood, that caus'd the world's vast heart to 

thrill, 
On some Swiss mountain or Italian hill. 
Of import small where first the light it saw, 
What we behold with rev'rence, — almost awe. 



NO MAN EVER BECAME GREAT BY 
IMITATION. 

*' No man ever became great by imitation," 

Thus said solemn Johnson ; and, if we believe 
him, 

Throughout this universal, vast Yankee nation 
There is none truly great among all the living. 

Original notions are not very plenty : — 

This I found was no fiction a long time ago. 

Just look at our authors, scarce one out of twenty 
But can plainly be tracked in old author's snow. 



26 Musings by 

But then those old authors, they had predecessors 

From whom they obtained perhaps costly- 
plunder ; 
If Homer himself was among such transgressors, 

Then at his grand genius we can't so much 
wonder. 

The Temple of Fame, though its outside's alluring, 
A new mode of entrance 'twill be hard to 
discover, 

And the niches are full of statues enduring. 

And the air, the throngs have often breathed over. 

Since the Churchills rul'd England when Anna was 
queen, 

(An era o'er which one with pleasure oft 
lingers,) 
How many great writers, or their works, have we 
seen ? 
One may count them, alas ! on the ends of his 
fingers. 



Peqiiit Brook side. 2j 

Our favorite bards, wlio "ve been praised from 
our birth, 
'Tis not hard to discern the authors they study ; 
For the spring will be tinctur'd and ting'd by the 
earth, 
And oftentimes by it be made very muddy. 



In a library, take the first book the eye meets. 
And glance at its pages, so sparkling and pure ; 

You will see a penumbra of Wordsworth or Keats, 
Or a faint echo sound of voluptuous Moore. 



The scholar Avill notice, without powerful lens. 
That fine jewels from corpses are frequently 
strii)t ; 

One author all bedizened from old Camoens, 
Another decked out from an old Spanish crypt. 



28 Musings by 

On some tinted pages mental gems brightly shine, 
On others bloom flowers of rich hue and 
perfume ; 
But these were transplanted from some ancient 
divine, 
And those were exhumed from some old monkish 
tomb. 

Some authors, it is sure, in our dear natal land, — 
The truth shall be spoken, whoever may fidget, — 

If in the old writers they have not a whole hand, 
At least the}" have in them the main dexter digit. 

I give the whole world my opinion and benison, — 
Although 'tis not worth paying even the freight 
on, — 
That Britain's great bard, the fam'd Alfred Tenny- 
son, 
Has read in days past old Michael Drayton. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 2g 

A man in one thing may be an imitator, — 
As some artists play well on only one string ; 

But portraits ar'n't cut like profiles from paper, 
A bird in a cage cannot soar — but may sing. 



The skillful mechanic oft uses mean tools, 

And stock that is common, and that which is 
rare ; 

So authors employ the sagacious and fools, 
As Paganini employed both catgut and hair. 



Some men's souls gush out from each finger's pore. 
As they fly o'er the strings or keys very nim- 
ble ; 

But if one is poulticed because it is sore, 
And one encas'd in a heavy brass thimble, 



30 Musings by 

Much jarring and discord would likely ensue, 
Instead of a torrent of music sublime ; 

And so of some poets it is certainly true, 

If they have inspiration, they lack health and 
time. 



If a man's of good size, both sturdy and limber. 

If he's void of vision, — in other words, blind, — 

If one nether limb's form'd of solid sound tim- 
ber, — 

He is not a fit person fine razors to grind. 



In some things, in progress I am a believer, 

But authorcraft's prospects grow fainter and 
fainter; 

A color-blind man might make a good weaver, 
But hardly could rise very high as a painter. 



Peqint "Brookside. 3' 

If a lame, fetter'd person should dance in a ditch 
Much srace of motion few would think he could 
reach ; 

And of fame, for some bards to expect a high pitch 
Is as useless as adding more down to a peach. 

A person can become great by imitation, 

If he imitates the good, the wise, and the brave ; 

But men of all ranks, and in every station. 
Had better work in a mine than rifle a grave. 



^2 Musings by 



NIGHT. 

How solemn is nocturnal time ! 

Then glories on our planets beam ; 
The moon walks proudly ; and sublime 

The firraamental islands seem. . 



The clouds upon the astral steeps, 
The mists upon the mountains gray, 

The river vast, which ever sweeps 

The concave through, — the milky way. 



A sweet sabbatic silence reigns. 

While countless worlds in praise unite ; 

While suns on solar roads in trains 
In oceans pour their golden light. 



Pequit Brookside. 5^ 

Oh then is seen Omnipotence 

In oibs which ronnd onr workl career; 
And ill the shadows dark and dense, — 

Vov sliadows show a substance near. 

All things which mortal eyes can view, 

All jolaces by archangels trod, 
Are shadows, dim and faint, but true, 

Of our Creator and our God. 



^^ Musings by 



THE FORMS IN EARLY YEARS WE'VE KNOWN. 

The forms in early years we've known, 

Thongli they've slept long in dust and cold, 

Stand in the mind as carved in stone, 
Unchanging seem and ne'er grow old. 

We do not need Apelles' paint 

To bring our valued dead to view ; 

Their faces beam on us, not faint; 
We see theii' very garments' liue. 



We do not need the poet's powers 

To keep their mem'ry bright and green ; 

Fresher than dewy morning flowers 
Are all their gestures, voice and mien. 



Pequit Brookside. j?5 

None need the marble, canvas, bronze, 
Whose life has been what life should be. 

Who've left a noble son or sons 
To venerate their memory. 



LINES. 

Seen at a distance through vast depths of air, 
Worlds seem like jewels in Night's crown be- 
spangled. 

Huge trees seem like the lofty mountain's hair. 
In which auroral flaming shafts are tangled. 

So, o'er the dreary, dismal, wat'ry plain 
The seaboy's eye a lovely island greeting. 

To him, accustom'd to the troubled main. 
It seems an evanescent cloud and fleeting. 



^6 Musings by 

YE CANNOT SERVE GOD AND MAMMON. 

When men can find a potent styptic 
To keep the Amazon from flowing, — 

Macadamize the bright ecliptic, 

And turn the firmament to mowing, — 

Add sev'ral rings to distant Saturn, — 
Start into life the son of Amnion, — 

Of future worlds strike out a pattern, — 

Then may they serve both God and Mammon. 



A CONTRAST. 



His birth was on a rigid wintry day, 

When Nature's self seemed like a corpse con- 
gealed ; — 
His death was on a lovely eve in May 

Which a blest Sabbath sunset grandly sealed. 



Pequit Brook side. ^7 

A POCKET BOOK. 

What Roman shield or Grecian helm, 
When troubles spring from ev'ry nook, 

When heavy woes the race o'erwhelm, 
Can guard one like a Pocket Book ? 



What segis like it ? vast and wide. 
Unbending as a anchor fluke ; 

None made of metal, wood, or hide 
Is equal to a Pocket Book. 



The wretch who well deserves the rope, 
When matters have a hanging look, 

Need not abate of heart, or hope, 
If he's a well-lined Pocket Book. 



^8 Musings by 

What though a man is mean and small ! 

His wealth obtain'd by lust and crook ! 
The world to him will cringe and crawl, 

Because of his round Pocket Book. 

The dunce who, maugre his thick pate, 
Can tell the State House by its look, 

Is straightway sent to legislate. 
If he's a rotund Pocket Book. 

When sober citizens convene, 

Though his chattering's like a rook, — 

He will be thought almost supreme. 
For his distended Pocket Book. 

Should he assert the circle's square, 
A plain straight line a perfect crook ; 

There would enough the same declare. 
Because of that large Pocket Book. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 59 

This panacea none can match, — 

When terror stoutest hearts has shook, 

He can escape without a scratch, 
Who hides behind his Pocket Book. 

For him the clergy '11 preach and pray. 
And artists carve, and paint, and cook, 

Lawyers will lie, musicians play, 
If he's a pleth'ric Pocket Book. 

It is a substitute for brains ; 

For virtue, valor, is mistook ; 
'Twill cover o'er the foulest stains, — 

This marvellous, thick Pocket Book. 

Black characters 'twill bleach out white. 
Though they their crimes have not forsook ; 

They'll be esteem'd pure, just, and right, 
If they've a bloated Pocket Book. 



^o Musings by 

But then these characters to gild, — 
To have them glide smooth as a brook, 

It must be crowded out, — well fill'd, — 
This same all-potent Pocket Book, 

Scan thou ev'ry tome of Astor's, 
Yea, ev'ry one by mortals took ; 

As its contents are "shin plasters," 
Men value most the Pocket Book. 



1871. 



Pequit Brookside. 41 



THOUGHTS ON THE NILE. 

The Nile, for countless years, had strewn 
O'er Egypt's plains profusion grand ; 

But yet its source was all unknown, 
Although it fructified the land. 

Each year, the natives crops would take, 
The annual fruitage nicely glean, 

And knew not of Nyanza lake, 

The source of their prolific stream. 

They knew the all-enriching floods 
Bestow'd on Egypt pomp and power ; 

Gave flowers, and fruits, and bursting buds, 
And gladden'd ev'ry fleeting hour ; 



4"^ Musings by 

And their hearts swell'd with gratitude 
To Horns, Isis, and their priests ; 

They render'd worship, true, though rude. 
To loathsome reptiles and to beasts. 

May we not think the soul which stirs 
Within man's breast devotion blind, — 

May we not hope such worshippers 
Will, with our God, acceptance find ? 

The infant Moses calmly lay 

On thy fair breast, O famous Nile ! 

And on that bright and breezy day, 
The huge, voracious crocodile. 

So, in our common, daily walk, 
We see a saint, God's chosen one ; 

And by his side a sinner stalk. 

Whose presence shames the glorious sun. 



Pequit Brookside. 4^ 

There, gilded bai'ges moving proud, 
With silken sails from Persian looms ; 

Discoursing music sweet and loud, 
Enwrapped in incense and perfumes. 

In wretched scows, were flesh and bones 
Enchain'd to oars, with tearful lids ; 

The boat borne down with massive stones, 
To build the mighty pyramids. 

This ancient river onward ran, 
Dispensing blessings far and wide ; 

It fed the nation, — brutes and man ; 
By it their wants were well supplied. 

From the equator to the poles. 

The lover of his race oft meets 
Men, not like Nilus, as it rolls. 

But more like stony, dusty streets. 



44 Musings by 

As it flow'd to the central sea, 

It miiTor'd sky, clouds, other views ; 

So man moves to eternity. 

And from surroundings takes his hues. 



1S78. 



ADVICE TO THE YOUNG. 

In sailing o'er Life's sea so far, 

Keep thy hand on the guiding helm ; 

Thy eye fix'd on the polar star. 

Lest raging waves thy barque o'erwhelm. 

If clouds arise, deep, dark, obscure. 

So thou'rt unable to discern 
The bright, the heavenly Cynosure, — 

Watch thou the needle, — grasp the stern. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 4^ 

To breezes soft adapt thy sails ; 

Winds, which thy vessel smoothly waft ; 
But be prepar'd for driving gales, 

Lest thou sink with thy found'ring craft. 

And should the tempest loudly roar, 

And hope diminish to a spark ; 
Fear not the rugged, rock-bound shore. 

Cast thou the anchor, — though 'tis dark. 



ON PRIDE. 



O, WHY should pride in any man exist ? 

He who was form'd from dust by his Creator? 
Whose days are like the transient, morning mist, 

Whose little life doth vanish like a vapor ? 



46 Musings by 

From dust thou art, to dust shalt thou return; — 
All human beings should this trutli remember ; 

But 'tis a lesson we are slow to learn, 

Encompassed as we are with wealth and splen- 
dor. 

Dust settles on the highest works of art. 

In spite of the most tireless, watchful warden 

Great cities slumber in the earth's vast heart, — 
The Dead Sea swallows up the living Jordan. 

Changes transpire ; — where once was heard the 
wheel, — 

It is a fact recorded in earth's story, — 
The dancing waves are parted by the keel ; 

And such convulsions say — Memento Mori. 

In twilight gray we trace a single star ; 

But as Night's pall envelops all the nations. 
Then brightly shine through the liigh fields afar, 

A host of burning, mighty constellations. 



Pequit Brookside. 47 

So, wlien this mortal life's about to cease, 
Wlien soul from body must be put asunder, 

May the bright stars of faith, love, joy increase. 
And our rapt souls be lost in holy AA^onder. 



THOUGHTS IN A CHURCHYARD. 

[A Dim Shadow i>i- Orav.) 

Within tliis mournfid, consecrated spot, 

Where countless numbers of the human race 

Remain unnoticed, by the world forgot, 

Held in Death's rigorous, iron, cold embrace, 

I tread; on this cliill, drear, Novembral eve. 

Faintl}' the wind siglis through the wither'd 
grass. 
The hoary trees their branches interweave 

And form an arch'd way under Avhich I pass. 



48 Musings by 

A Gothic chapel casts a dismal shade, 
Beside that elm with ivy overgrown ; 

It seems a sombre mantle, grimly laid 

O'er many a mossy, downcast, crumbling stone. 

The distant brooklet, o'er its cascade slight, 
A solemn murmur sends o'er all around, — 

Tlie powers of nature, on this sullen niglit. 

Add gloom and grandeur to this lowly ground. 

The stars dim glimmer from the vast abyss, — 
The moon a tlick'ring gliostl}' light dotli slied, — 

What hori'or overspreads a scene like this ! 

Wliat gloom liangs o'er the dwellings of the 
dead! 

A lurid cloud atliwart llie sky Ihts now, — 

The falling leaves the thorns and briai's bestrew ; 

What murky vapors rise on Night's black brow, 
Diffusing" dampness rouml like licalthful dew! 



Peqidt Brookside. 4g 

Below these mounds, beneath this gloomy pall, 
Fest'ring decay and rank corruption join ; 

On Beauty's cheek the worms securely crawl, 
And loathsome reptiles waste the form divine. 



In yon scath'd pine is heard the screech owl's 
moans. 
They fall terrific on the listening ear ; 
Death's music meet, — far worse than dying 
groans, — 
It makes this dreary place seem far more drear. 



The dead are in a distant silent land : 
Their separation from us, how immense ! 

None watch their passage to the trackless strand. — 
The spirit realm is hid from eyes of sense. 



^o Musings by 

Their works remain ; their labors we enjoy ; 

They clear'd our woodhmds, wrought our stub- 
born soil ; 
The cold, grim, tyrant Death can ne'er destroy 

Their bright example and their worthy toil. 



They had their joys ; however weak and tame 
They seem to us in this more polish'd age ; 

They lack'd the light of Learning's brilliant flame, 
And grinding want did all their force engage. 



But what avails man's grandeur, pomp, or power ! 

How vain ! how useless ! all that wealth can 
give ! 
It cannot add to life a single hour, 

Nor cause these putrid, old white bones to live. 



Pequit Brookside. 5/ 

Can Sculpture, or the proud mausoleum, 

Fame's flatt'ring trump, or praise however just ? 

Can honor gain'd on gory fields, or won 

By letters fair, save mortal man from dust ? 



What though no splendid marble tomb proclaims 
Where the poor clay is laid that once had 
breath ! 

Or gushing music in enchanting strains 

Flow o'er the ears so closely sealed by Death ! 



It matters not : — their sleep is as serene, 

Their slumbers are as sweet, as deep, profound. 

As though a swelling dome did intervene 

Between the concave and this hallowed ground. 



52 Musings by 

How many pearls repose in ooze and brine 
That might adorn a mighty monarch's brow ! 

And diamonds, that on Beauty's breast might 
shine. 
Are turned with pebbles by the rustic's plough.. 

They were not calFd to make their country's, 
laws, 
From golden urns for them no incense flamed, 
Their deeds would gain from crowds no loud 
applause ; 
But with no guilt their peaceful lives were- 
stained. 

Their lot was hard, forbidding, and severe, 

They were bound down by cold, relentless- 
Fate, 

It crush'd their virtues, sternly and austere, 
But kept them from the vices of the great. 



Pequit Brookside. 5i 

Tet from these ashes, rough feet to repel, 
Friendship some slight memento did uprear ; 

With quaint old verse, skulls, crossbones, covered 
well, 
Beseech from every one the pious tear. 



These mean old slabs inscribed, though poor and 
rude, 

Supply the place of eulogistic breath ; 
-And Scripture texts around are thickly strew'd, 

Which teach vain mortals how to conquer Death. 



For who, by insensibility o'erdone. 

His great, his last, his awful change e'er met — 
Left the bright region of the air, and sun, 

Without one lingering sigh or deep regret ? 



^4 Musings by 

Aye, who e'er left this earth, this blessed isle, 
The chill and dreary path of Death to tread, — 

This scene all brilliant with its Maker's smile, — 
And not a tear of bitter anguish shed ? 



When friend from friend Death's iron hand di- 
vides, 

When nothing mortal can arrest his force. 
How all survivors watch his dreadful strides, 

And with keen grief surround the pallid corpse I 



Silence is broken then with many a moan. 

Where art thou gone ? Oh wherefore hast thou 
died? 
Oh thou hast left for distant worlds unknown — 

Hast launch'd on waters deep and dark, untried. 

1871. 



Peqiiit Broohside. ^^ 



AN INVITATION. 

Come and meet me, gentle maiden, 
At the witching twilight hour ; 

Then, with pleasure overladen, 
I shall feel thy spell and power. 



Come, when o'er our world is shining 
Evening's mild and silvery beam, 

Then, like roses intertwining, 

Joy seems like a gilt-edged dream. 



In a state of high ignition, 

Stars journey through the vast abyss 
Could they know our blest condition, 

In envy would they view our bliss. 



5<5 Musings by 

Pleasure round thou art diffusing, 

Like fragrance from the blushing rose 

But no virtue art thou losing ; 

Thy spirit 's pure as arctic snows. 



O'er our pathway, interspacing, 

Is light enchanting, mellow, weird ; 

Our hearts, like branches interlacing, 
Like precious seed, become insphered. 



Nature beauties often tethers 

In union nice ; — but grand, if single ; 
As tuneful birds with golden featliers, 

As flowers and perfumes deftly mingle. 



1844. 



Pequit Brookside. ^7 



GENIUS OFTEN UNKNOWN. 

As pearls upon the ocean's bed. 
So genius often lies conceal'd, — 

As gems upon the coffin'd dead, — 
As treasure hid within a field ; — 

The tall grass waves, the waters roll, 

And hide from view tlie noble soul. 

As Mont Blanc, robed in glaring white. 

Is first saluted b}* the day, 
While regions 'neath are veiled in night, — 

So vulgar men o'er earth bear sway ; 
Are placed on high, in purple shine. 
Are courted, feared, as 'most divine. 

1846. 



5(5 Musings by 



A LITTLE BOOK. 

A LITTLE book, a tiny book, 

If good, let none disdain ; 
'Tis like a sweet, pellucid brook 

Amid a desert plain. 

How pleasant, when away from home,. 

Upon this gem to look ; 
Ay, he* who wrote the stately tome 

Much prized the little book. 

How blest, in summer's fervent heat. 

To find a sylvan nook ; 
And there, in pleasure calm and sweet. 

Peruse the little book. 

* Dr. Johnson. 



Pequit Brookside. ^g 

And when on earth his icy cliains 

Stern Winter firmly hooks, 
When desolation round us reigns, — 

To con the little books. 

The sea is made, however grand, 

Of rills with all their crooks, 
And little grains compose the land, — 

The Bible's made of books. 

In it we read an angel came 

And stood on sea and land ; 
He held no sceptre, sword of flame, — 

And what was in his hand? 

A little book. It far outshone 

A sceptre, sword, or mace. 
As seraphs on a burning throne 

Outshine the human race. 



^o Musings by 

Fire from earth's centre oft ascends, 

Has oft this planet shook ; 
But still, though mighty, ne'er transcends 

A noble little book. 



Thrones crumble 'neath its magic sway ! 

Wands change to shepherd's crooks, 
And empires sink into decay, 

By very little books. 



A spear, match'd by a weaver's beam, 

The pond'rous volume's like ; 
But stones, pluck'd from the babbling stream, 

And little books, will strike. 

1879. 



Pequit Brookside. 6r 



THE POET'S RECOMPENSE. 

Genius enkindles genius ; and its rays 
Can the remotest verge of earth illume ; 

Yes — like the sun produce a gen'ral blaze, 

Which will dispel the deepest, thickest gloom. 

What is more charming than the poet's crown ? 

What is more lasting than his deathless fame ? 
This, Time's oblivious tide can never drown. 

Nor quench the lustre of his fulgent name. 



What is more pleasing than harmonious lines ? 

What's more exalted than the poet's fire ? 
Around his work a sweet enchantment twines; 

Delight attends the labors of the lyre. 



•62 Musings by 

"All hail ! ye mighty masters of the lay ;" 
Compar'd with you, the loftiest are low ; 

Your praise will last till Nature shall decay, 
And then perhaps to other worlds will flow. 

The God of Nature gave your tuneful powers, — 
He who the harp of Judah's Poet strung, — 

He placed you in the high, the laurel'd, bowers, 
And glory's mantle bright around you flung. 

Come, then, thou son of genius ! lank and pale, — 
Ye who have watched the midnight taper burn. 

Your tow'ring fancy over all will sail, 

And Fame's clear torch will light your lowly urn. 

Ye have the power the souls of men to move. 
To still the ruffled, stir the placid mind ; 

The troubled and unhappy ye can soothe, 
Polish the rude, make pure the unrefined. 



Pequit Brookside. 6^ 

Your art is like the living face divine, 

That has health, animation, heat, and breath ; 

While Painting, Sculpture, her high sisters, shine 
Like cherubic beauty chained in death ! 



The labors of your great and mighty mind 
Men will admire, yea, will them most adore ; 

In high, in humble, bosoms be enshrined. 
With spirit-wings reach every distant shore. 



Yes ! what you view your slightest, smallest dream. 
When you are gone, will be a star on high. 

Whose lustre, mirror 'd in each, every stream, 
Will charm the sage, and the unscienced eye. 

Printed in 1854. 



64 Musings by 



EVENING REFLECTIONS. 

The shining stars that deck yon arch, 
And every dim and feeble orb, 

In their eternal, holy march. 
Declare the glory of the Lord. 

Yes, flaming suns together piled, 
And systems that serenely shine, 

Proclaim to Earth's most lowly child 
That God their maker is divine. 

The changeless garniture on high 
The mental eye of Man illumes, 

Teaches Earth's pilgrim how to die. 
With seraph-harps his spirit tunes. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 65 

Go forth thou, in the solemn night, 
And view the scene so high, august ! 

Scan yon eternal zone of light, 
And no more grovel in the dust. 

Farther than aided eye can reach 

Are orbs by which God's glory's shown ; 

There is no language nor no speech 
Where stellar voices are unknown. 



66 Musings by 



AN OLD MAN'S MUSINGS. 

Once I was young — yes, once I was fair, 
But now I am old and borne down with care. 
The joys of my youth^ like guests from a feast, 
Have left, — and life's shadow slopes far to the 
east. 

Ah, yes, I am old, — long lines on my brow. 
And deep-wrinkled visage attest to it now ; 
My bright hirsute crown mostly fallen away, 
And that which remains, a dull iron-gray. 

My spectacled eyes and long grizzly beard 
Seem like a Santon, all wither'd and weird ; 
The dull leaden pains and what they presage. 
Are the grim compeers, the adjuncts, of age. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 67 

The adjective " old " applied to my name. 
And, when I walk forth, my stout bamboo cane, 
The stray words of persons of every clan, 
Indicate clearly that I'm an old man. 



The names of my friends on tombstones are borne ; 
For the dear ones departed I cannot but mourn ; 
Their memories haunt me, they seem to arise 
Like radiant clouds o'er clear sunset skies. 



My mind's unimpaired, though my body's a wreck ; 
But Hope the dark sky with bright clouds doth 

fleck ; 
And though sadly shorn by the action of Time, 
I still am upheld by a Parent divine. 

1880. 



68 Musings by 



ASPIRE. 

Ere the Mayflower diseiiibogued 

On Plymouth Rock her precious freight, 

Or British King in wrath prorogued 
The grand Sanhedrim of the state, — 



The savage floated in his birch, 

Borne down with filth, and low desire ; 

Until he saw a Christian church 

Pierce the blue concave with a spire. 

What new thoughts rush'd through his rude brain ? 

Far better, purer, brighter, higher, 
As he survej^'d that sacred fane, 

Its silence said, " Behold, aspire." 



Pequit Brookside. 69 



ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. 

O BLEST omnific Potentate ! 

Greatest of beings, increate ! 

Thine ear with unform'd sounds is stored, 

Thou art by ev'rything adored. 



Thou dost the golden sun career, 
And mak'st him form the varied year ; 
The azure arch, and splendid bow, 
Unto Thee all their beauty owe. 



Lo ! at Thy word, from chaos, night, 
A world sprang forth all rob'd in light ; 
Submissive to Thy law divine 
Sun and planets brightly shine. 



7o Musings by 

Ere Time began, Thy hand did trace 
The features of each, ev'ry face 
That has, or shall, on earth appear. 
Until the great " Eternal Year." 

Thou the high mountain forms didst throw, 
And in their bosoms treasures sow ; 
Waters from waters' vast extent 
Thou partedst by the firmament. 

The raging winds Thy coursers are, 
The sombre cloud becomes Thy car, 
The pensile earth's upheld by Thee, 
Thou boldest in Thy hand the sea. 

A flaming cherub is Thy steed, 
And horns do from Thy hands proceed. 
There is the hiding of Thy might. 
Arrayed in burning, matchless light. 



Peqiiit Brookside. Ji 



LINES 



Written on seeing it discussed in the papers where to erect a 
monument to Webster. 



Upon a mountain's summit rear 
A monument, both broad and high, 

And no inscription let it bear 

But " Webster," through eternity. 



Let it o'erlook some surge-lashed shore. 
In everlasting grandeur stay, 

Till Time with men shall be no more,— 
Till heaven and earth shall pass away. 



J 2 Musings by 



A SUNSET VIEW. 

Behold the western sky aglow 

With golden streaks and burning coals! 
A molten river seems to flow 

Amidst those deep, voluptuous scrolls. 



Dolphins around a vessel's prow. 
Griffins and satyrs, centaurs too, 

Are seen on heaven's bright canvas now. 
Where all was blank, and fair, and blue. 



Knights, ladies, squires, attending tilts, — 
A glove, enormous, on the grass ; 

Goliah, mounted high on stilts, 
Surveying a vast sea of glass. 



Pequit Brookside. 7i 

Chariots and horsemen greet the sight ; 

A serpent huge its length displays ; 
Supernal armies seem to fight 

With Furies, Dragons, in a blaze. 



Spaces are seen like charming isles, 

Where spirits loved and gone might roam, 

Encircled round with fleecy piles 

Of clouds, to shield their shining home. 



But roseate hues and fiery gleams 

Give place to saffron tints and gray ; — 

Oh ! how much like our youthful dreams, 
When all this splendor fades away. 



J 4 Musings by 



ON THE WORKS OF THE DEITY. 

The Almighty Artist did the arch japan, 
Which swells in splendor o'er this home of Man 
He paints each flower on this terrennial star, 
He gilds each planet in the abyss afar. 



His looms prepare the hoar-frost, hail, and snow, 
His word doth cause the biting winds to blow, 
He chafes old ocean's main, and at His will 
The soundino' billows are serene and still. 



He caiis'd the light from darkness drear to spring, 
He lifts the islands like a little thing. 
And, when the orbs have ceased to measure time^ 
His lightnings will this ample ball calcine. 



Pequit Brookside. 75- 



THE ABODE OF MAN. 

Nature with pleasure is replete : — 
The spangled arch above Man's head, 

The verdant earth beneath his feet, 
Form a good place to win his bread. 



The water sparkles that he drinks, 
Fire is his servant, and the sea ; — 

The wild winds serve him, and methinks 
The trees weave witching tracery. 



The streamlet glistens in its course, 
The forests, Nature's Gothic piles, 

Radiant with beauty, almost force 

From coldest hearts sweet, cordial smiles. 



y6 Musings by 

The sunbeams penetrate all nooks, 
And gild and gladden all our homes ; 

Oh, " there are homilies in brooks, 
And sermons in the common stones." 



Then Man, lord of this brilliant scene, 
Should not one beauty e'er destroy ; 

Nor droop about o'erwhelmed with spleen, 
When all things are surcharg'd with joy. 



Peqiiit Brookside. yy 



WHAT THE BACHELOR IS LIKE. 

Like the dove unaiked, his miiKl 
Is seeking peace throughout his life ; 

But he no olive branch will find — 
That sign of peace, — but in a wife. 



In vain he studies classic lore, 
In vain he cultivates his muse ; 

His spirit thirsts for something more, 
Though moistened with Castalian dews. 



Who lives without his better half 
Is like the merchant who doth spread 

His sails to waft off worthless chaff, 
Expecting jewels in its stead, — 



y8 Musings by 

Or like him who the brumal storm 

Should brave uncloth'd, without a house, 

Expecting to be close and warm, — 
So is he who's without a spouse. 



Who's lived a score and five is bad, 
Who's lived a score and ten is worse ; 

A blemish on creation sad, — 
A desert in the universe. 



Come, then, ye bachelors, though late, 

Obtain a wife at any cost ; 
Come, now, and by one happy trait 

Retrieve the credit you have lost. 



1838. 



Pequit Brook side. 79 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

In the broad arch the crescent hung, 
And stars shed down their silver sheen, 

A mystic lustre then was flung 

O'er thy fair fields, blest Palestine ; 

E'en i^alm-clad Sharon saw the glow, 
And likewise sad Gethsemane ; — 

Jordan restrained his wonted flow, 
TJiy waters slumber'd, Galilee ; 



But Zion, o'er thy hallowed height 
A halo threw celestial grace ; 

In thee thy Maker took delight. 

And lambent flames adorned thy base 



8o Musings by 

A glory beam'd on every hill, — 

A light which made each mount a gem ; - 

When " Peace on earth, to man goodwill, 
And Christ is born in Bethlehem," 

Was heard by lowly shepherds long, 
Through riven skies, in stellar strains. 

We hear the echoes of that song 
Reverberate from Judah's plains. 

But who first heard this sky-born lay ? 

Not kings, nor heroes clad in mail. 
Not prophets, priests, nor sages gray, — 

But simple shepherds in the vale. 

See common men thus honored most, — 
O'er them eternal glory strown 

By seraphs and the heavenly host 

Who circle round the great white throne. 



Pequit Brookside. 8i 

Labor may be with worship join'd, 
And business with devotion true ; 

Earth's cords may heavenly treasure bind, 
And God be praised in all we do. 

How grand was this angelic cry 

Which flowed tlirough the stupendous fane 
Of lofty and unpillared sky, 

With choral spheres of living flame ! 

Throughout vast space are countless stars, 

Beyond all astronomic ken ; 
But none such peerless splendor wears 

As the bright star of Bethlehem. 

Earth's a deep organ for God's praise, 

A harp of many varied chords, 
And all its notes from ancient days 

Distinctly sound " It is the Lord's." 



82 Musings by 

These echoes down all time will roll, 
United worlds wall join the cry, — 

Suns, systems, as one mighty soul, 
Shout " Glory be to God on high ! " 



1876. 



ON THE DEATH OF A MISER. 

He burrow'd in this little sphere ; 

The earth his spirit did encrust ; 
Thus he went on from year to year. 

Till now his body's in the dust. 

And now the man is all unmask'd, 
The world of him is now bereft. 

What question now is often'st asked ? 
Why, " How much money has he left ? " 



Pequit Brook side. 8^ 

Not how much good tliat man has wrought? 

How holy, pure, were all his deeds? 
How pious was each, every thought? 

How he supplied the poor man's needs? 

How keen, how shrewd, were all his schemes ! 

His deep laid plans, how were they blest ! 
Money would spring forth from his dreams. 

They taught him wisely to invest. 

Whoever failed, whatever crash. 

His vessel would securely ride ; 
A perfect avalanche of cash 

Did in his coffers safely slide. 

While life remained he aught would save ; 

But now he lies stiff, stark, and cold ; 
But, Midas-like, though in his grave. 

May turn that very grave to gold. 



g^ Musings hy 

And if within that phice serene, 
Where all are holy that he meets. 

He'll quickly form some brilliant scheme 
To coin the gold that paves the streets. 



1878. 



WHAT IS LOVE LIKE ? 

How shall I liken Love? with what compare 
That gentle power whose sway all mortals share ? 
'Tis like the austral air, or flow'ry lawn, 
Or like the light that ushers in the dawn. 

Bright,— as the rich and glowing tiiits that rise 
In matchless beauty o'er Italian skies. 
Mild, — as the stars which at Creation's birth 
Beam'd, from their bright celestial seats, on earth. 



Peqtiit Brookside. 8^ 

Calm, — as tlie silent, vast, reposing deep, 
When on its bosom all its billows sleep. 
Fair, — as the meek refulgent Queen of Night, 
When o'er our world she s})reads her aigent light. 

Sweeter, — by far than incense Persia yields. 
Or fragrance wafted from Arabia's fields. 
More precious, — than the richest shining gem 
That ever graced a Monarch's diadem. 

Pure, — as the spirit in an infant's breast, 
When on its cradled couch it sinks to rest. 
Enchanting, — as the sweet Oi'jihean lyre. 
Unceasing, — as the sacred Vestal's fire. 

We mortals love ; — whose life is but a span. 
Yes, — to love is the noblest boon to Man. 
Bright seraphs love, — wlio float in other spheres. 
Where Time's unmeasur'd by the lapse of years. 

Printed in 1841. 



86 Musings by 



ON THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION OF 1872. 

O WHAT a strange ainalgaination 

Has taken place throughout our nation ! 

The foes to misrule Ulyssean, 

Have joined their voices in a pean, 

A song exultant and sonorous, 

But dissonant, and dire, the chorus. 

All grades, sects, nations, Gentiles, Jews, 

Like Joseph's coat of varied hues ; 

Grand Doric notes linked with patois, 

A statue formed of stone, and clay, 

A feast in a mausoleum, 

Wine flavored with petroleum. 

These incoherent, motley hosts 

Like statues seem, with Ossian's ghosts, 

Or prophets, poets, princes, priests, 

Immixt with doErs and lower beasts. 



Pequit Brookside. 8j 

The witching flute's most dulcet strains, 
With files, and saws, and creaking wains ; 
Ophir's pure gold, with worthless dross, 
Instead of hair with mortar, floss, 
For rulers, rough orang-outangs, 
Instead of rifles, boomerangs. 



HYMN. 



Lord Jesds, make us as Thou art. 
Make us entirely, wholly Thine; 

Renew in us a sinless heart, 

On us Th}^ image stamp divine. 

O Thou canst full salvation give. 

Can faith, love, joy, and peace bestow ; 

Can teach us wisely how to live. 
Our scarlet sins turn white as snow. 



88 Musings by 

On us Thy Spirit blest is shed, 
On our benighted souls it shines ; 

Thy love is like a golden thread 

Which lowly, loving hearts entwines. 

Man's life's a scene of grief at first, 

Earth's brightest beauty Time enshrouds ; 

Its glory is a bubble burst, 

Its honors are but fleeting clouds. 

Lord ! speak the word ; Thou needst but speak 
Then wonders rise by feeble flesh ; 

Yes, by Thy help, like worms as weak. 
Thy saints the lofty mountains thresh. 

Upheld by Thee, who for us died, 
Sinners meet Death without a fear ; 

Salvation issued from Thy side, 
Pierc'd by the cruel soldier's spear. 



Pequit Brookside. 8g 



A POET. 



The Poet's soul is light. 

He seen and unseen things doth paint. 

The languages are his coloring. 

They are luxuriant, and bright, 

But oh how dim ! how weak ! how faint ! 

To show forth his imagining. 

It is delightful to obtain a glance, 

At thoughts that issue from a Poet's brain ; 

How high above the world's rude utterance ! 

It makes the soul glow with a lively flame. 

Yes, his symphonious soul can blend 

The softest tints with sweetest sounds ; 

It can to ambient objects bend. 

Or soar to Earth's most distant bounds. 

A Poet is the highest grade of n)an. 



90 Musings by 

The woild will listen to his rainbow tones. 
He breathes in witching melody 
More mind than is contain'd in man}- tomes 
That grace the splendid Vatican. 



1840. 



ON THE FREEDOM OF THE MIND. 

Man's mind is free ! 'twas always free, I find; 
Tyrants could never chain the human mind. 
Despots may rule with iron rod, and rave, — 
They never can the human soul enslave. 

They might as well curb heaven's vivid flash, 
As curb Man's mind by dungeon, rack, or lash ; 
Yea, full as well with cobwebs think to bind 
The charger, us with steel the human mind. 



Pequit Brookside. gi 

They might as well attempt to hide the sun 
With a gauze veil, and cry '■ The world's undone ! " 
As place Man's person in complete control, 
And then suppose they had subdued his soul. 

They might as well, with their own puny force, 
Arrest the mighty river in its course ; 
This they may do, and sooner ocean bind. 
Than tame the bold and daring human mind. 

Shall souls that scan the earth, the air, the main. 
Shall they be limited by a tyrant's chain ? 
It cannot be ; it cannot be confined ; 
It ranges forth as free as air or wind. 

Let Smithfield fires resume their wonted glow, 
Aye, fiercer burn, and hotter torments show, 
Let bigotry turn foe to all mankind, — 
Man's soul is free, unfettered, unconfined. 



g2 Musings by 

Though superstition does the world enshroud, 
And darkness veils the earth as with a cloud, 
The pilgrim's barque will cross the stormy sea, — 
The Alpine heights proclaim Man's spirit's free. 

The spacious earth, for Man, is mean and poor ; 
'Tis but his birthplace and his sepulchre; 
His nobler powers from this poor earth are riven, 
That they may grow, expand, and live in heaven. 

Publislieainl841. 



BIBLE TIMES. 



What great, what grand, what noble views 
Were taken by the seers of eld — 

Moses, and other prophets, Jews — 
Of future scenes which they beheld ! 



Peqidt Brookside. 93 

The nation's faith, — how bold ! how pure ! 

It leaned not on the stoned page, 
But on prophetic words obscure, 

Which hallowed all that wondrous age. 

Whether tlujy walked in morning dews, 

Or lonely sat in evening's shade, 
Poets would ponder well, and nuise 

On all things which the Lord had made. 

Sweet odes were written under palms, 

Transcending later works of art ; 
Perhaps there, David wrote his Psalms, 

Which give a voice to every heart. 

Zion's blest lyrics consecrate 

Each scene in this our earthly lot ; 

The Psalmist's harp-strings still vibrate 
In regal palace, lowly cot. 



g4 Musings by 

May we not think amid the grove, • 

'Neath Summer's glows, or Autumn's glints. 

The bard his stately rhyme inwove 

With burning thoughts and breathing hints ? 

1879. 



DECORATION DAY, 1873. 

While Time its mighty cycle runs, 
As verna] seasons shall appear. 

So long our heroes — fallen sons — 
Shall honored be from year to year. 



They fought — they died; the good, the brave; 

Before them sank the rebel rag ; 
Gave Freedom to the lowest slave. 

And well sustained our noble flag. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 95 

They drove fell Treason from the land, — 
For that dear land their blood they shed ; 

Their gallant deeds in accents grand 
Devoutly speak, though they are dead. 

We cannot add to their renown. 

No lustre give to martyrs' flames ; 
But yet this ancient, goodly town 

Can on fair tablets grave their names ; 

Can o'er their ashes banners wave, 

And garlands weave, and chaplets twine ; 

And view each soldier's lonely grave. 
As sainted hero's hallow'd shrine. 

Aye, o'er the mould that wraps their clay. 

Let soul-inspiring music flow. 
Let rolling drums and bugles play, 

In thrilling strains, the thanks we owe. 



g6 Musings by 

Let fluent wordsineii, 'midst these stones, 

Kindle tine patriotic fires ; 
And poets, in their golden tones, 

Exalt these sons of Canton sires. 

If more attempt, at highest cost, 

B}^ touches nice, or strokes more bold. 

We might paint, marble, bronze, exhaust. 
And find we had been gilding gold. 

Immortal names! not doomed to die. 

Who broke all shackles, chains, and bars. 

Your names appear to ever}^ eye, 
As jewels bright, as radiant stars ! 



Pequit Brookside, gy 



IN THE CONVOCATION AT PHILADELPHIA, 
1876. 

Ruler of worlds ! O Lord of hosts ! 

Who didst this great Republic raise, 
Now all the glory which it boasts 

Should be employed to swell Thy praise ! 

Thou didst our fathers well sustain ; 

They through Thy strength threw off the yoke 
Of stern oppression ; and the chain 

Which t3''rants forged the}'" bravely broke. 

A hundred circuits round the sun 

Our planet's made since Freedom's birth, — 
Since we a Nation did become. 

And took a standing on the earth. 



g8 Musings by 

Our Occidental skies now bend 

O'er people near, and those remote ; 

Nations this joyous place attend, 
In harmony their ensigns float. 

Labor and art blend like perfumes, — 
Like a grand river form'd of rills. 

Here products rise from Indian looms. 
Here fabrics wave from Lowell mills. 

Here rolls the Indus' precious store, — 
The Thames and Tagus keep not back ; 

And many distant rivers more, 
Join issue with the Merrimac. 

Nations and arts together fuse. 

Auspicious era ! golden pass ! 
Discordant people — Gentiles, Jews — 

Seem like famed Corinthian brass. 



Pequit Brookshle. gg 

May peaceful arts expand and thrive, 
Good-will to man glow in each heart ; 

May the whole earth great good derive 
From this commingling of each part. 



Lord ! though the past resplendent shone, 
May the vast future brighter shine ; 

Lead Thou us on, Almighty One, 
In skill, work, worship, all divine ! 



A PART OF THE NINETIETH PSALM. 

Whilp: ages after ages roll. 

Lord, Thou wilt bless the human race ; 
Thou art the friend of every soul, 
Its firm, unshaken dwelling-place. 



100 Musings by 

Before the seas were spread abroad, 
Or mountains bathed in solar flame, 

From everlasting Thou art God, 
To everlasting art the same. 

Ere Earth's foundations strong were laid 

On solid adamantine bars, 
Before the Sun and Moon were made. 

Or all the shining hosts of stars, 

Thou wert ; — and all things didst survey 
In every stage from first to last. 

A thousand years seem but a day, 
Or but as yesterday when past. 

Thou quickenest Man, — some breathing dust. 
Though in him doth Thy Spirit burn. 

But soon thou sayest what is just, — 
" Children of mortal Man, return." 



Pequit Brookside. loi 

As with a flood away they're borne, 
They are as slumber, deep, profound ; 

They flourish like the grass at morn. 
Which eve sees wither'd on the ground. 



THE AURORA BOREALIS. 

In Northern astral chambers wonders rise. 
What countless glories shoot athwart the skies ! 
Some star dust aspens, gleaming, shake and shiver 
Upon the banks of a resplendent river. 
Streaks, stripes, and rays are drawn in vast ex- 
pansion. 
As if to deck some sky-born magnate's mansion. 
A shining arc with gentle undulations. 
As Nature meant to decorate all nations. 
Masses of fire, from which sea monsters issue 
And crawl o'er carpets of the finest tissue. 
Now here a row of grand supernal carters. 
And there a host of sainted, holy martyrs. 



102 Musings by 



GOD IS LOVE. 

God Thou art Love ! declares the sacred page. 

That Thou art Love is seen in every age. 

When the fair Moon first view'd Earth's primal 

state, 
When the morning stars together sang elate, 
When to rapt shepherd's gaze the planet hung, 
And Eastern sages heard an angel song ; 
And now, when all on earth, in heaven above, 
Breathe forth to Man this truth, that Thou art 

Love. 
That thou art Love, the wintry winds oft sigh. 
And summer zephyrs waft the same reply. 
The leaf that rustles, and the bolt that rends, 
The sturdy oak, the pliant reed that bends. 
The sweeping tempest, and the gentle shower, 
The snnny valley, and the sylvan bower. 



Peqiiit Brookside. i o^ 

The insect's hum, the great archangel's lyre, 
Man's humblest prayer, the holiest seraph's fire. 
The idiot's smile, the poet's loftiest lay. 
Night intellectual, and the brightest da}^ 
The solar light, the pale star's feeble beam, 
The turbid sea, and the pellucid stream. 
The star-gemm'd sky, in characters most bright, 
Disclose this truth on each successive niglit. 
Each lustre seems where spirits rest awhile 
As on a shining, pure, and pearly isle. 
Most plainly seen, the brightest of the whole 
Is Love implanted in the human soul. 
In its duration, too, how vast ! how high ! 
When once created it can never die. 
An influence the Saviour shed in Nain, 
More blest than Hermon's dew or vernal rain. 
His potent voice, which raised the widow's son. 
Will millions raise to the empyrean. 
Through ceaseless ages they will peans raise 



104 Musings by 

To their Creator's and their Saviour's praise. 
As odors sweet swell upward to the skies, 
And with them dark and noxious vapors rise, 
So Thy pure love with human love will blend, 
Remain unchanged, and never, never end. 



183». 



LINES DISSUADING A FRIEND FROM 
ENGAGING IN A LAWSUIT. 

O THOU, my friend, meet death in any shape, 
By pistol, poison, cord of hemp or flax, 

Than strangled be by line of legal tape, 

Or robbed by lawyers with their ink and wax. 

For fatal things, view Nature's wide domain ; 

The brigand's rifle, or the bandit's steel ; 
And see what slight, what momentary, pain 

They cause, when counted with the lawyer's seal. 



Peqitit Brook siiie. lo^ 

Though red tape's narrow, and exceeding thin, 
Yet men should dread it all their mortal lives ; 

For no constrictor holds so firm, — no gin, 

Or chains, bolts, shackles, joined with brazen 
gyves. 

Laocoon, by monstrous serpents wreath'd, 
Had a good chance the vital air to draw, 

Compar'd with him who tries to be relieved 
From wrong or outrage by our courts of law. 

Who justice thinks to win from bench or bar. 
Is like a ship in tempest leaving port 

To founder soon, bereft of every spar, — 
So is the man who seeks redress at court. 



I of) Musings by 



LINES. 

Who guides Arcturus and his sons? 

Who girds Orion's lucid bands? 
Who leads the hosts of shining ones? 

Whose influence affects all lands ? 



Who paints each soft convolving cloud 

In hues seraphic eyes admire ? 
Who sliakes the eartli and thunders loud? 

Who feeds the Sun's undying fire ? 

Who witii a super-solar light 

Has always all His saints illum'd, 

Like Moses' bush that glowed so bright, 
And, though it burned, was unconsum'd? 



Pequii Brook side. I07 

Thou, mighty Lord ! who phmets wield. 
Who tlirough all space Thy presence flings. 

Dost tint a daisy in a field, 

Dost deign to gild an insect's wings. 

Cherubs Thee homage yield divine. 

In courts of everlasting day ; 
But Thou on lowly souls doth shine, 

Who dwell in houses made of clav. 



LETTER OF AUGUSTUS C/ESAR TO LIVIA 
DRUSILLA.' 

Drusilla, dear, 1 love thee well ! 

Thy person shines with every grace ; 
No pen can write, no tongue can tell, 

The matchless beauty of thy face. 

I Livia Drusilla was the wife of Tiberias ClaiuUas Nero. 



io8 Musings by 

My sway and name extend as far 
As solid earth, or heaving main ; 

I harness monarchs to my car. 

On sceptred hands impose a chain. 

A tributary world I view ; 

Protection from me all invoke ; 
Before my portals sov'reigns s;'.e 

The favor of my regal yoke. 

I am 2 a poet ; and I choose 

To list to poet's high discourse ; 

At my board sits the Mantua:i Muse, 
And the Ausonian prince of verse. 

The sex no favors me denied, 
Since I the royal purple wore ; 

Aye, and I say it, too, with pride. 
Since I the name of Caesar bore. 

2 Augustus wrote several tragedies. 



Peqitit Brookside. log 

Potential love ! a force divine, — 

By it the captor's captive led ; 
Augustus bows to Livia's shrine, 

And languishes "with her to wed. 



*& 



Scribonia ^ a dowdy seems, — 

The ladies of my court seem dregs ; 

Livia's in my nightl}- dreams, 

Her kindness Csesar humbly begs. 

Rome's brightest beauty seems like night, 
Compar'd with thee, thou shining one. 

Seems meaner than a catamite, 
She is by thee eclipsed, outdone. 

I^ did the drama institute, 

That people virtue well might learn ; 

3 Scribonia, wife of Augustus. 

4 According to some autlioi-s lie first instituted stage plays. It 
was also at the thratre Augustus first saw Livia. 



no Musings by 

Like ^ him who formed the brazen brute, 
Shall a grim foe my vitals burn ? 

Forbid it ! Sun and Stars, that beam 
Upon my vast dominions bright. 

Forbid it ! ev'rything terrene, — 

Spring, Summei', Autumn, Day, and Night. 

No sigil e'er can heal my heart ; 

But thou, my fair enchantress, can ; 
My wound's beyoiltl the reach of art. 

Beyond the help of mortal man. 

Though thou art Tiberias' spouse. 
He's only Gallia's Proconsul ; 



5 Pei'illus, an ingenious artist at Athens, made a brazen bull for 
Philaris, tyrant of Agrigentum. This machine was fabricated to 
put criminals to death by burning them alive, and it was such that 
their cries were like the I'oaring of a bull. When Perillus gave it 
to Phalaris, the tyrant made the first experiment upon the donor, 
and cruelly put him to death by lighting a slow fire under the belly 
of the bull. 



Pequit Brook side. in 

I'll loose tliee from thy marriage vows; 
I every law can disannul. 



Tiberias, thy husband, knows 

The flame which in his sov'reign burns ; 
Likewise the duty which he ow^es 

To one who can dispense with forms. 

O could you fully comprehend 

What Cfcsar is, what you may be ; 

To me a willing ear you'd lend, 

And love him who so deep loves thee. 

Thrice happy Livia ! thou hast charms 
That's bound the world's sole Potentate. 

Thou yet will grace that Monarch's arms 
Who rules a universe prostrate. 



112 Musings by 



LIVIA'S REPLY. 

Most mighty Csesar ! great and wise, 
I read the epistle borne to me 

By high Macsenas, with surprise, — 
It came from potent Csesar, — thee ! 

Can he, who does the world sustain. 
One single thought on me bestow ? 

Whom millions meet with glad acclaim ? 
My tim'rous spirit whispers — " No ! " 

Does Csesar love me ? blissful thought! 

He does, — so all his courtiers say. 
Who would believe that such a lot 

Could e'er await on — Livia ? 

1842. 



Pequit Brookside. 113 



BE FRUITFUL AND MULTIPLY. 

O ALL ye dwellers 'iieath the sky, 
Who creep, or walk, or swim, or fly, - 
Be fruitful ye and multiply. 



Millions of sunbeams morning wakes, 
And countless drops compose the lakes, 
And floods arise from tiny flakes. 



After Earth was duly centred. 
Ere sharp sorrow had it entered. 
Or weak Man to sin had ventured ; 



114 Musings by 

Ere the Law came down from heaven 
When Mount Sinai was riven, — 
This command to Man was given. 



One star is no consteUation, 
Though it shine on all creation 
Practise, then, multiplication. 



What avails an education, 
Talents, or exalted station. 
If we're minus population ? 



In this world of change and chances, 
Multiply like leaves on branches, 
Or like sands in avalanches. 



Pequit Brookside. ify 



BLUE HILL. 

Blue Hill seems like an earthly star, 
That disregards both Time and Fate ; 

'Tis hailed from sea and land afar, 
As a fit altar for the State. 



The mists that on its bosom rise, 
The sunbeams that upon it play, 

Seeiu like an ancient sacrifice, 
Seen from our lovely Boston bay. 

And in the mellow Autumn days, 
As thou, fair Mount, in russet shine. 

Observed through mild October haze, 
Seems a pavilion all divine. 



II 6 Musings by 

Thou seem'st a firiuameutal prop, 

Whose base vests on this sphere mundane, 

Which will not let the heavens drop. 
But will their garniture sustain. 

The cold North Star upon thee beams, 
And Sirius fiercely on thee burns. 

And waning moons, in paly streams. 
Pour light with countless starry urns. 

Thou art great Nature's mighty fane, 
Which she adorn'd with loveliest hue ; 

And where thy head surmounts the plain. 
It rivals pure celestial blue. 

Nothing can now thy fame augment; 

We cannot thee too highly rate ; 
For thou, tliine ancient name has lent 

Unto our own beloved State. 



Pequit Brookside. iiy 

Of tidings glad thou hast apprised, 

When we with woe were sore oppressed, 

And near thee saints have been baptized. 
And patriots gathered on thy crest. 

Thou hast borne blessings, greater now, 
F(ir on thy crown is })laced a watch, — 

A structure grand, on thy high brow, 
Placed by the hand of noble Rotch. 

In regal splendor thou'rt alone ; 

Humanity has thee enjoyed ; 
And massive, grand, thou art bur own, 

Old Massachusetts' asteroid. 

Aye, — thou dost pierce infinitude. 
And view each brilliant astral gem. 

And sound a stellar interlude 
To roundelay or requiem. 



ii8 Musings by 

Fair Star terrene, in azure robe, 

Thou'It last wliile Suns in phalanx roll, 

Till fire incinerates our globe, 

And chaos reigns from pole to pole. 

Printed in 18S6. 



Peqiiit Brookside. ii9 



CUBA. 



Cuba, contiguous to a great grasping nation ! 

Thou fair, fertile island, we must thee obtain 
'Twill cover with glory the administration, 

To extort thee from old, emasculate Spain. 



Try Aviles Machiavelian ! by what precedent rule, 

To her nominal owner award her true value; 
Treat as well, with some eunuch, for sombre 
Stamboul, 
Whose life has been spent in the Sultan's 
seraglio. 



A whole party's hounds bay for thee in chorus ; 
The party is dominant, efficient, and brave ; 



I20 Musings by 

They'll threaten their foes with the sack and Bos- 
phorus, 
And the bow-string each, every friend of the 
slave. 

Some think we might look very deep into Vattel, 
And list to the Bible and not its perversion ; 

But with them we'll work our own human cattle, 
Whose labor must spring from nought but 
coercion. 

Must thou extend the domain Cimmerian 
Of slavery worse than a vampire or ghoul ? 

Thou, that might'st be a fine garden Hesperian, 
Be curs'd with this incubus, mighty and foul ? 

If so, let all freemen break forth in loud dirges ! 
The Philanthropist blush, hang his head for 
his kind ! 



Peqitit Brook side. 121 

If here must be used the shave's chains and 
scourges, 
And the soil with his blood be incarnadined. 

Rise, mortals of song ! of the army Pierian ! 

Rise, statesman and orators, in a body as one! 
Rise, men with intellects almost Websterian ! 

In thunder-tones say " It shall not be done ! " 

1P58. 



122 Musings by 



MUD. 

r Written at the time General McClellan was Commander-in-Chief 
OF the Union Forces.] 

Rise, Muses, rise ! your tuneful aid impart. 
Help me to reach this mighty nation's heart 
Through the poor means of weak, discordant verse, 
As others, by their swords, now reach its purse. 
O, were my pen but equal to my theme. 
Then would I rival Poet's wildest dream ; 
Then would I cover paper like a flood, 
And sing in raptures of the praise of Mud ! 
Proclaim this fact to all, and never fail, — 
Mud is like Truth, is mighty, will prevail. 
By Pen and Sword grea.t lights our sky bestud 
One star now shines there " by the powers of Mud !" 
In Art, too, Watt, a name conjoined with steam, 
Must surely pale his ineffectual beam ; 



Pequit Brookside. 12^ 

And he who tauorht the vivid liijhtniiio's olare 
To go on errands through the ambient air. — 
Yes, like a tiling of life direct its course, — 
Thou, too, must sink ! immortal, gifted Morse ! 
Mud held our army with a stubborn grasp. 
No hero could its yielding chains unhasp. 
When has Press, Pulpit, Lightning, Steam, with- 
stood 

And bound such numbers, as this Monarch, Mud? 
Egyptian kings, — it almost makes one smile, — 
When Mud abounded on the fertile Nile, 
Instead of lab'ring with tremendous pains 
To build the Pyramids to bear their names, 
Should have seized on this puissant means to soar 
Above the flight of Time's corroding j^owei'. 
Cyrus and Ctesar, they were men of blood, 
They never thought to rise by potent ]\lud ! 
What is, to vulgar souls, a scourge, mere mire. 
Ethereal genius makes a wing of fire ! 



124 Musings by 

Ne'er quarry marble more for honest fame, 

A chieftain, now, may write in Mud his name ! 

Stern discipline may well its rules relax 

Since Mud received tliree hundred thousand tracks. 

Our soldiers, still the pride of all manhood, 

Are taught the useful art of wielding Mud. 

Our braves, responding to their country's call. 

Are used like Irish on a great " canawl." 

" The ahmy's safe ! " — 'twould make an angel 

weep, 
And almost break our fathers' leaden sleep ! 
Behold our Mighty, Muddy Chieftain comes ! 
We've won ! Our trophies ? Thirty/ ivooden guns I 
Rise, men of rhyme ! unite in glad acclaim ; 
Throw glory's nimbus bright around his name ! 
Marble and latten. Mud will supersede. 
So plain is this that " he who runs may read." 
May Burnside's besom, like old Van Tromp's broom. 
Sweep foul Rebellion from our land, and soon. 



Peqiiit Brookside. ^25 



NEGLECT. 

When Winter's breath doth indurate 
The surface of the placid lake, 

Then, frantic winds can'c agitate 
Its bosom, or iti^; quiet break. 

So, when Man's soul is turned to ice 
By cold neglect, — he then assures 

The whole wide world he it defies, 
And, unuiov'd, all its rage endures. 



126 Musings by 



CAN MAN BE SURE HE IS RIGHT? 

In society there must be schism, 

Into one mass it will not fuse. 
The luiman mind is like a prism, 

Through which light shines in varied hues. 

It shines through all the Bible list 
, Of precious stones, of richest veins ; 
From jasper unto amethyst, 

Which Heavenly Salem's wall contains. 

Whence does this difference, great, arise ? 

This difference, I rightly ween, 
Depends somewhat upon the eyes. 

More on the angle whence 'tis seen. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 127' 

If "holy light," for aye the same, 

Pours divergent visual rays, 
And Day's high Monarch's mighty flame 

Misleads us in his noontide blaze, 

Can erring men be sure they're right ? 

They who most sorely feel their need 
Of help Divine, and, mocked by light, — 

How can they ever be agreed ? 



f28 Musings by 



AUTUMN. 

The waning 3'ear o'er Earth has thrown 

A sombre robe of sickly hue. 
The winds around us sigh and moan, 

The skies are gray which once were blue. 

The trees their leafy mantles doff, 
And naked stand, ignobly bare ; 

Aerial songsters now are off 
To sunny climes in milder air. 

With wdiat distinctness sounds are heard, 
E'en to the softest, famtest lisp ! 

The notes of ev'ry hardy bird. 

Through air so dense, so cold, so crisp. 



Pequit Brookside. I2g 

Yes, we with wondrous plainness hear 
The jay's harsh scream, the crow's rough caw, 

As they in frigid air career. 

Guided by nature's changeless law. 

Icily forth the frost doth ride. 

Like an arch-fiend with purpose fell ; 

And murders plants, their owners' pride, 
As with a dire, infernal spell. 

The ripen'd corn, in russet clad, 

In martial order doth remain ; 
It looks like soldiers, marr'd and sad, 

Returning from a long campaign. 

The gloomy rustle of each leaf 

Seems like the solemn muffled drum ; 

And Nature droops, oppressed with grief, — 
The " melancholy days have come." 



/^o Musings by 

But then these sad autumnal days, 
Like the struck dolphin e'er it dies, 

Show shining tints and golden haze. 
And brighten and adorn the skies. 

1879. 



Peqiiit Brookside. iji 



RED, WHITE, AND BLUE. 

Brave comrades, courage ! through the boom 

Of caauon our old planet jars ! 
Let not one man succumb to gloom 

While o'er us floats the stripes and stars ! 

Forward ! we'll meet the foemen fell, 
And show the world that soldiers do 

Such deeds as poets grandly tell, 

While o'er them floats red, white, and blue ! 

Though shot and shell like earthquakes rend. 
Though bursting bombs and bullets smite, 

Our nation's flag we will defend, — 
Exalted flag ! red, blue, and white ! 



1^2 Musings by 

Sacred shall be each, every fold ; 

For it our blood we'll freely shed ; 
To see it makes a coward bold, — 

That waving flag, white, blue, and red ! 

Plant the proud banner ! plant it high ! 

Our mighty nation's noble type ! 
The world shall see we'd rather die 

Than dim a single star or stripe ! 

In triumph float o'er land and main, 
Flag of the pure and holy dead ! 

Our enemies will find it vain 

To rase the blue, the white, and red. 

Wave on ! thou ever-grand ensign ! 

Float ever thy celestial hue ! 
Thy starry spangles ever shine ! 

For ever wave, white, red, and blue ! 

1862. 



Peqiiit Brookside. 75^ 



THE BOUNDLESS POWER OF THE DEITY. 

Lord, Thy dominion knows no bound ! 

Thy praise exalteth eloquence ! 
Thy centre ev'ry where is found, 

And nowhere Thy circumference. 

Thou causest earth to bud and bloom, 
Where Thou hast lodg'd the human race ; 

The distant suns Thou dost illume, 

That travel through the realms of space. 

There is no sphere, howe'er immense, 
Or tiny grain of common sand. 

But feels Thy potent influence, — 
Is ruled by Thy Almighty hand ! 



/^^ My sings by 

The rains descend on thorn and vine, 
The nettle and the fragrant rose, 

The nightshade, and the jessamine, — 
Each l\y Thy benediction, grows. 

Winter earth of power bereaves, — 

Then forests stand like mourning brides ; 

But robes for plants Thy bounty weaves 
When spring strews verdure on all sides. 

The elemental pillars four 

Sustain Man's fair sublunar seat, 

And on its flow'ry, fruitful floor 
Beauty and use together meet. 

Lord ! who by searching ever found 
Out Thee, or fathom'd Thy design ? 

Thy depths no being e'er can sound, 
For they require an endless line. 



Pequit Brookside. /^5 



DO LITTLE THINGS. 

Do little things, do little things, — 
Nor stay for more important feats ; 

Were angels lodged in courts of kings, 
They'd just as soon sweep city streets. 

For Christ, St. Peter drew his sword ; 

At his command walked on the deep. 
But what to Peter saith the Lord ? 

" Feed thou my lambs ! " " Feed thou my 
sheep ! " 

Not strive to rise in arms or arts, 
Or sway the world by eloquence ; 

But sow good seed in lowly hearts, 
And thus Christ's kingdom here commence . 



1 ^6 Musings by 

On all this obligation's laid, — 
For this no labor's low or mean ; 

Count nothing small the Lord hath made, 
And no soul common or unclean. 



From minds dispel all needless fear, — 
Assuage the mourner's poignant grief ; 

The lonely orphan's spirit cheer, 
And to the poor extend relief. 

Each well-meant word, each kindly deed, 
Though never brought to public view, 

May be like tiny mustard seed. 

Which, hid in earth, a great tree grew. 

1845. 



Pequit Broohside. i^j 



TWILIGHT. 

When from evening's argent vase 
Flows splendor forth on earth and space, 
When Pleiades sparkle bright, 
And huge Orion gilds the night, — 
When stars appear like molten globes. 
And western clouds seem seraph's robes, 
When shade and silence fondly woo, 
And trees against the fading blue 
Seem scripture on celestial gates. 
With many and important dates, — 
When atolls, lagoons, all marine, 
Accord with hills and vales terrene, — 
When winds and waters murmur far 
In cadence sweet with each bright star. 
As when of yore on Eden's ground 



1^8 Musings by 

Our Maker's voice was heard to sound, — 

When on heaven's vast dial-plate 

Bright constellations indicate 

The flux of time, — how moments fly 

And fall into eternity, — 

When distant bells most faintly chime, 

Heaven sheds down its joys in time, — 

Oh how can man, whose life's a day, 

At such a tiuie, forbear to pray? 



Pequit Brookside. i ^g 



MIDNIGHT. 

Rayless Night ! whose leaden sway 

All the lands of earth obey, — 

Yet, at midnight's deepest gloom 

Of thought, the ancients called it noon. 

Armies of stars are seen to glide 
O'er the blue pavement, side by side ; 
In their bright ranks there is no jar, 
No din, confusion, death, or war. 



140 Musings by 



ADVERSE FATE. 

Some cannot catch a favoring gale, — 
Must always row, — can never sail ; — 
And if their poor, storm-beaten skiff 
Makes land, — they have to climb a cliff. 
Their course then lies through wood and brake. 
Where lies encoiled the gilded snake ; 
Through morass, marsh, and beds of slime, 
Where venomed reptiles bask and shine. 



And shall it e'er be said, be e'er surmised, 
That he who treads this fair cherubic pave, 

Must, like the swine, be dead before he's prized? 
Before he's valued, slumber in the grave ? 



Pequit Brook side. 141 



The human face, on great occasions, shows 

Traits nowhere seen in Nature's vast domain : 
As when great Brutus struck the fated blows, — 

When Webster nugified the fluent Hayne, — 
When Britain's stage was pressed by Garrick's 
feet, — 

When Newton found the law that worlds obey, — 
When Bonaparte gave orders to retreat, — 

And when Columbus saw America. 
Within this narrow, small, contracted range. 

Say inches six by nine, — this little space 
Shows love, despair, hate, anger, dire revenge, — 

This index of the soul, — the human face. 



142 Musings by 



1 SAMUEL, CHAPTER 9. 

Saul sought the brutes, — his father's — not his 

own, — 
And found them not, — but found, instead, a 

throne. 
So, God's co-workers oft no wealth amass, — 
Seek not their own, — find not a single ass. 
For w^hat seems naught they toil without renown, 
But at life's close receive a starry crown. 
O may the strong and great, the weak and small, 
This lesson learn, — to seek and work like Saul : 
Do what they can, — suppress each idle wish. 
And gain a kingdom like the son of Kish. 



Pequit Brookside. 14^ 

ZION, PUT ON THY STRENGTH. 

[ Isaiah, Chapter 52.] 

ZiON, put on thy Strength ! awake ! 

Thy comely garments proudly wear ; 
The dust from off thyself now shake, 

Thy moans and lamentations spare. 

Daughter of Zion ! loose thy bands ! 

Tho' thou hast sold thyself for naught ; 
With joy and gladness clap thy hands, 

Thou without money shall be bought. 

Upon the distant mountains far, 

How beautiful the Angel's feet, 
Who saith Jehovah reigneth here, 

And joyful tidings doth repeat. 



144 Musings by 

Thy watchmen lift the tuneful voice, 
With gladness they together sing; 

See eye to eye, and much rejoice 
That God again will Zion bring. 

Deserts break forth in joyful strains, 
A universal anthem choir ; 

Here, Zion's King in glory reigns, 
With joy His people doth inspire. 



1843. 



Pequit Brookside. 14^ 



HEAVEN AND EARTH UNITE AND SING. 

Heaven and Earth unite and sing 

To God, — the great Creator jiraise, — 

To Him from whom all blessings sj)ring, 
Who crowns with mercy all our days. 

The sun, encircled with a zone 

Of purest light, dissolves the gloom 

Where moon and planets feebly shone, — 
So Christ irradiates the tomb. 

With beauty earthly objects glow 
And tell in love our world began : 

While balmy zephyrs as they blow, 
Show how the Spirit acts on man. 



146 Musings by 

Fire, flood, and earthquake, magazines 
Of horror, Thy kind hand controls ; 

On us Thy eye benignly beams ; 
Our peace as a vast river rolls. 

O Lord, upon our hearts impress 

What we should be, — how Thee to serve, 

To love Thee more — the world far less — 
And never from Thy precepts swerve. 



Peqiiit Brookside. i^y 



HYMN. 



Lord ! in Thy presence we appear, 
Our sin and errors we deplore ; 

Give us the love that casts out fear, 
And bid us go and sin no more. 

From each temptation, vile assault. 
Preserve us. Lord, by grace divine ; 

Oh purge Thou us from every fault, 
And let Thy face upon us shine ; 

Give us that faith that works by love, 
That's like an anchpr to the soul ; 

That will sustain, though storms above 
And mighty billows 'neath us roll. 



14S Musings by 

Midst angels' songs, arrayed in white, 
Where life's fair waters gently flow. 

May we with them in praise unite 
And sing the debt to grace we owe. 



When offered in the Saviour's name. 
Our worship will acceptance find, 

As that of seraphs all aflame, 

With all tlie heavenly host combined. 



Pequit Brookside. 149 

HYMN. 

O HOLY one, by Isr'el slain ! 

Thou that didst prophets' eyes unseal ; 
O'er sinful hearts and spirits reign, 

And unto us Thyself reveal. 

Deep silence reigns in Judah's halls. 
No songs there sound to Salem's king; 

But here, within these sacred walls, 
We will Thy praise devoutly sing. 

Let us, Thy sinful children, now 
Acceptance find as clear and plain 

As those on Zion's hallowed brow. 
Within Jehovah's mighty fane. 



j^o Musings by 

O Zion, holy, happy, place ! 

Once source of joy and jubilee ; — 
But now the hopes of all our race 

Are centred on Mount Calvary. 



Pequit Brookside. 75/ 



HYMN. 



Lord, whose glory's not confined 
To hosts of worlds on high that roll, 

Thou dwell'st with^ev'ry humble mind, 
And visit'st every lowly soul. 

Bless Thou the numbers that convene 
Within Thy holy Temple's gate, 

Free them from thoughts debasing, mean, 
And raise them to the heav'nly state. 

With pure devotion rich endued, 

May they pour forth entrancing lays ; 

Nor low, nor grov'ling cares intrude 
To quench the fire of fervent praise. 



152 Musings by 

Though countless worlds to Thee pertain, 
And suns and systems claim Thy care, 

Man, a small link in being's chain, 
Receives a regal, ample share. 

We, Thy dependent children, own 
Our sins as scarlet may have been ; 

But faith rests on that Corner Stone, 
For ever glorious,'" bless'd. Amen. 



Peqiiit Brookside. i^^ 



A MEDLEY. 



Man, rise up to thy highest level ! 

And virtue, all honor, account. 
Let no foe, human or devil. 

Degrade thee from this lofty mount. 



With vigor encounter all evil : 
Frown on it in palace or street ; 

As hard frosts kill out the weevil 
That is so destructive to wheat. 



Though arrows the beaming sun darken. 
Of dangers be thou not afraid ; 

To ill-omen'd prophets ne'er hearken. 
But valiantly fight in the shade. 



1^4 Musings by 

The feat, at which ages have wonder'd, 
And sounded through every land, 

When Leonidas and his three hundred 
Caus'd the vast Persian army to stand, 



Was by no means a lone paragon, 

That small, could great numbers oppose, 

But a bud, that burst on Marathon 
A blooming, bright, beautiful rose. 



All have a narrow Thermopylfe, 

Where they can fight bravely, and bleed, | 
And let people their stamina see, 

If a Marathon does not succeed.'' 



Pequit Broohside. i^^ 

Revere thyself I be no man's beagle, 
Irrespective of state, place, or time ; 

You never will pass for an eagle 
If you rate yourself only a dime. 



On trifles throw not away learning ; 

Bear this fact in mind evermore : — 
A speech that is thrilling and burning 

Would be lost in a grocery store. 



In speaking, regard situation ; 

Nor passion, surpassing, e'er feign ; 
And spurn all mere declamation. 

As did Webster replying^to Hayne. ] 



/5<5 Musings by 

Disregard the rowdy, and scorner, 
Nor listen to hear gossips prate ; — 

Who holds forth at every street corner, 
Will never in Congress debate. 



Get good from the Vedas and Shaster, 

Or any diminutive page ; 
But in this world call no man " master,' 

Though maugre the light of his age. 



Rely on thyself in thy labors ; 

111 fortune try hard to retrieve ; 
For favors don't call on the neighbors 

Give often, — but seldom receive. 



Pequit Brookside. 1^7 

Petty things damage peoples and races : 
Some labor will change human shape ; 

He'll never compute stellar spaces 
Who nothing does but measure tape. 



The sun through the Zodiac travels, 
And ruts and impressions he scorns ; 

But masses of light he unravels, — 
Which, formless, revealeth all forms. 



He silently blesseth each canton, 
Throughout his extensive domain ; 

Whale, elephant, insect, or phantom, 
He regally doth them sustain. 



f^8 Musings by 

Some signs of the times are most cheering 
There's hatred of every sham ; — 

Folks now do not wish for veneering, 
But separate truth from a flam. 



We employ the lightning and steamer, 
People now are mostly car-borne ; — 

By the thoughts of some cunning schemer 
The mountains themselves are uptorn. 



Steam works in every meridian 
A high invaluable boon ; 

It makes the sun stand in Gibeon, 
In Aijalon's valley the moon. 



Pequit Brook side. i^g 

We can do with skill, ease, and pathos, 
What was greatly be3'ond Xerxes' sweep : 

And bid the aspiring Mount Athos 
Sink low its proud head in the deep. 



This continent wears a vast cincture, — 
Our country with railroads is zoned. 

Worlds from us will take hue and tincture. 
And this cannot long be postponed. 



Man said of the earth, " I will span it, — 
Through ocean the lightning shall glide ; " 

And then he required a new planet 
To conquer, — and o'er it preside. 



i6o Musings by 

The future work will be astounding, 
Exceeding the work of the dead, 

As the globes, our planet surroundings 
Surpass beads upon a silk thread. 



Like gold they seem in a crucible, 
Assay'd by the Chemist Divine ; 

And having render'd them fusible. 
Upon us they more brightly shine. 



Like the stars, retain thy position ; 

Serve God and to mortals be just ; 
Amidst obloquy and derision 

Thyself most implicitly trust. 



Pequit Brookside. i6i 

Keep thy orb the same as a planet ; 

Do duty, — nor whimper, nor pule ; 
For justice, stand firm as the granite ; 

Adhere to the great Golden Rule. 



The saurian was a good proem, 

On which Nature founded her plan. 

And finished in a grand poem, 
A being of culture, — a Man. 



To the best man always be equal, 
Let thy' record shine bright as his 

But never become a mere sequel. 
Or written in parenthesis, j 



1 62 Musings by 

Revere the good of each nation 
Recorded in story or song ; 

And labor to be a quotation 
Repeated by every tongue. 



Dissolve not like cake, nor like candies, 
Leave thou an imperishable name, 

As lasting as Alps, or the Andes, 
Or the great Cordilleras chain. ; 



One looks upon luck as a factor 

That to pounds can transmute his pence ; 
But he is a public detractor, 

A libel on labor and sense. 



Pequit Brookside. i6^ 

One law rules in every atom 

That is found in all Nature's realms ; — 
In a sand, in Jove, or in Saturn, 

In a drop, or a flood that o'erwhelms. 



If planets should hold a convention. 
And gather in yonder bright sky, — 

One might talk upon his dimension. 

One, the speed with which he could fly ; 



One, that worlds seemed to him but spatters, 
As flowers that deck our fine Junes ; 

And on lofty celestial matters 

Orbs should be appraised by their moons; 



164 Musings by 

Those mean little planets, though denser 
Than us, — and much nearer the sun, 

Are a snuff-box beside a censer, — 

'Tis not strange they should faster run 



One, that in Night's brilliant tiara 
She filled the most splendid space, — 

And in heaven's high panorama 
Was put in the loftiest place. 



But the grand law of gravitation 

Might respond, " You are all ruled by me 

I will that each one keep his station 
While sailing through this azure sea." 



Peqiiit Brookside. i6^ 

Good character is a diploma 

Which lasts when the Himalays fade,— 
A sweet and eternal aroma 

That will the creation pervad.e. 



We cannot approach the horizon, 
We find it doth always retreat ; 

Let distant good, life not empoison, 
But seize that which lies at our feet. 



We must not expect to be griefless, — 
Woe joins us as light doth the morn 

We look for the root to be leafless. 
Nor seek we the grape on the thorn. 



166 Musings by 

Young man, be not mean or craven,- 
Be ye circumspect in words ; 

Do not imitate the raven, 
Emulate the king of birds. 



High above the tempest soaring, 
The sun he meets with steady gaze, 

While congeners are deploring 
The absence of " pale Luna's rays." 



Space on high there is no telling, — 
Beneath seems but a pent-up well ; 

One, a noble, princely dwelling. 
One, a felon's gloomy cell. 



Pequit Brookside. i6y 

From the wicked keep asunder ; 

Rightly act, and fear no ill ; 
Be among that happy number 

That perform their Maker's will. 



Live thou down the vilest scandal, 
Let it not derange thy plan ; 

Meet each lying Goth and Vandal 
With the spirit of a man. 



Visit scenes of filth and squalor ; 

All created beings bless ; 
Never get a single dollar. 

Which, if dying, should be less. 



1 68 Musings by 

While man's heart continues beating, 
While light's pleasant to his eyes, 

Some will gain their bread by cheating, 
By base dishonor, stealth, and lies. 



Things are in the right direction, — 
Error rank to truth must yield ; 

Let thy gun know no deflection, 

And sweep gross error from the field. 



Gilded shams and thoughts fallacious 
Greatly please the human race ; 

And men, empty and loquacious. 
Oft attain the highest place. 



Pequit Brookside. 169 

By thy efforts gain thy channel, 
Without the aid of others' math ; 

For, if mounted on a camel. 

No wonder people clear thy path. 



No praise if you use daddy's money 
As on life's journey you proceed ; 

That makes time serene and sunny. 
But never wrought one valiant deed. 



But thy boat steer through all weathers. 
However rough the waters seem ; 

Nor for lucre, froth, nor feathers, 
Be idly towed along by steam. 



ijo Musings by 

By the chiu upheld, in ocean, 
Ignobly tranquil one may rest ; 

But ne'er entertain thenotion 

That he, alone, could billows breast. 



Strive hard thyself to comprehend ; 

Nor with keen eye thy neighbor scan ;, 
Profoundly think on life's great end. 

Nor interfere with Nature's plan. 



All lines are either curved or straight ; 

All things are simple or complex ; 
Affairs, however intricate. 

The cool, clear head will not perplex. 



Pequit Brookside. lyt 

If thou thyself dost fully ken, 

Thy line thy soul's deep soundings touch ; 
Then thou wilt understand all men, — 

Thy wants be few, thy pleasure much. 



Serve thou the Lord, who didst create 
Unnumber'd orbs that gem the sky ; 

Who, by a word, plac'd worlds in state. 
While angels could not form a fly. 



Arrange to often be alone ; 

To God and man be fill'd with love ; 
Remain unnoticed, little known, 

And slander's shafts will not thee move. 



112 Musings by 

The bird her course which highest shapes, 
Which highest soars aloft in air, 

From many clangers oft escapes — 

The hunter's gun, — the fowler's snare. 



So let no thing become a mesh 
To tie thy spirit, 'neath the skies. 

Scorn thou the joys of sense, and flesh, 
Bid thy immortal soul arise. 



Labor to know thyself! how vain 
Are honors, fame, or sordid pelf : 

He knows the most of God, I claim. 
Who most completely knows himself. 



Pequit Brookside. ly^ 

How deep ! how vast ! this truth appears, 

As we upon life's journey go ; 
We find, as we advance in years, 

" All knowledge is ourselves to know.'* 



